Code of Ethics
by J.P. D'Osty-Fernandez
Summary: Casey Novak struggles with an ethical dilemma ensuing from a case, and finds support from a most unlikely hero
1. Chapter 1

Code of Ethics  
--by J.P. D'Osty—Fernandez  
  
—dedicated to Royal Ulster Constabulary Detective Superintendent Ian Phoenix, (killed in the Chinook crash on the Mull of Kintyre in Scotland in  
June 1994), to all RUC, and Garda Siochona officers and Ulster Defence  
Regiment/Royal Irish Regiment soldiers who have given all in the fight against terrorism, and, as ever, to Diane Neal, the wonderful young actress  
who portrays Casey Novak, and whose virtuoso ability, unyielding  
determination, and profound warmth are eternally an inspiration. BRAVA,  
DIANE!!!  
  
Casey Novak, Stabler, Benson, and Fin are from Law&Order: SVU  
  
Captain Donnie Creggan is from Law&Order: SVU and Law&Order  
  
Detective John Munchis from Law&Order: SVU and Homicide: Life on The Streets  
  
Serena Southerlyn and Arthur Branch are from Law&Order  
  
Christopher Aloysius "Chris" Muldoon, Seamus Parnell Muldoon Senior, Seamus Parnell Muldoon Junior, Maureen Fitzgerald Muldoon, Eamon Farley, Ivy League U, and Upton U are my creations.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
The elevator opened at Casey's stop, the floor that housed the SVU squad room. The dread she initially felt going there when she first started a few months back was mostly gone now. She felt less and less self-conscious. And she had reason to. The place was no longer as cold as Antarctica. The detectives, whose glances at first barely concealed their dislike and contempt, now regarded her almost as one of their own. They listened to her input and respected her opinions. Casey still did not like having to deal with these types of cases. But with people who were willing to work with her, well, that made it somewhat more bearable.  
  
Captain Don Cragen was standing at a board, festooned with photos, maps, and notes on the victims, times, places, and MO's. Stabler, Benson, Munch and Fin were all at their desks facing Cragen and the board. Fin was leaning forward, as was Benson. Stabler and Munch were reclining in their chairs. Munch was playing short-distance "catch" with himself.  
  
"Morning all."  
  
The detectives grunted, mumbled and nodded their acknowledgment.  
  
"So, we have a suspect?"  
  
"Yes, Christopher Aloysius Muldoon, 19. Student at Ivy League U., on the seven year plan. He was at all five parties. Plus, he once majored in premed and in chemistry..."  
  
"Real brat." opined Munch. "Thousands of kids with potential have trouble paying off four years at State colleges, and Mr. Trust Fund here takes a vacation at the most expensive university in America."  
  
"His background in chemistry and biology" Cragen continued, giving Munch a thoroughly unholy glance, "means that he had the knowledge to cook up the sedatives used to drug the girls. He was almost perfect at it too. Lab found no traces of it in the vics' blood. If that chemical didn't happen to increase alter their urinalysis, the lab would have never figured out that there was something besides alcohol in the mix."  
  
"Wait a minute Captain!" Casey interrupted. "Did you say your suspect was Christopher Aloysius Muldoon?"  
  
"Yeah. Why?"  
  
"Is that his photo there on the board?"  
  
"Yeah. That's him. Chris Muldoon, second son of Seamus Parnell Muldoon and Maureen Fitzgerald Muldoon. Don't tell me the name scares you too? None of the vics want to come forward and testify. Muldoon's gone to ground. The parents lawyered up. We have all the Muldoon bank records, except for..."  
  
"That's not the problem, Captain. When I was in Law School, Maureen Muldoon was one of my professors. A mentor, in fact."  
  
"So?" asked Stabler "The DA's office has nailed other lawyers in the past. Judges, even. And they were all personal acquaintances of the prosecutors in question. What's the problem here?"  
  
"The problem is, once Maureen Muldoon asked me to assist in her son's defense. I was in fourth year, anxious to get some courtroom experience. So, I have a conflict of interest. Let me call Serena Southerlyn. She went to a different Law School, so she can help you without any conflict of interest issues."  
  
"Hold on, Counselor!" Stabler sat up, now. "Are you saying that Chris Muldoon has a juvie record?"  
  
"I can't talk about that, Detective!"  
  
"Counselor, we know Chris Muldoon is the rapist, and that he will rape again, if we don't get him. And we're at an impasse. We can really use whatever you can give us." Pleaded Cragen.  
  
"Even if you could, any judge is going to say that anything I gave you is privileged information. Chris Muldoon will walk. I'm sorry. I can't help you. I really want to, but I can't."  
  
"Damn lawyers!" cursed Munch "Always looking out for each other!"  
  
Casey turned to face him. Her eyes were misting up.  
  
"John, you know that's not fair!"  
  
With that, Casey turned and left the squad room. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  
  
At nine that night, Munch got home. He walked very wearily up the stairs to his apartment. It had been a long day. They were still no closer to finding Chris Muldoon.  
  
As he put his key into the lock, Munch became aware of a presence in the hallway.  
  
"Detective Munch!"  
  
Munch turned towards the source of the stage-whisper. It was Casey Novak. She was wearing a hooded sweatshirt under a leather jacket, and blue jeans.  
  
"Counselor! I was just looking for you, I went to your place..."  
  
"Let's talk inside!"  
  
Casey glanced in both directions, as if to make sure there was no one else there. Munch picked up on the urgency in her voice and actions, and opened the door without another word. He motioned for Casey to enter. After she did, he checked to see if there was anyone else in the hallway. Satisfied that there was not, he entered, and closed and locked the door.  
  
"Have a seat" Munch said as he turned on the light.  
  
Casey sat on the edge of the easy chair that faced the door, perpendicular to Munch's couch and TV. Munch took a seat on the right side of the couch, sitting at a forty-five degree angle to face Casey.  
  
"Counselor, I tried to find you at your office, but they said you had already left. I tried your place, but there was no answer. I just want to say I'm sorry about this morning. I was out of line. This case is frustrating, but I shouldn't have vented on you like that."  
  
"I understand John, and thank you. But that's not why I'm here. Without mentioning any specifics, can you tell me if you made any progress on the case?"  
  
"No. We're still where we were this morning. Ms. Southerlyn couldn't get the judge to unseal Muldoon's juvie record."  
  
"Then, let me put a hypothetical before you. Would you, in a case like this, rather arrest the suspect, only have the case dismissed on technicality, but at least you'll have his prints and a record on him as an adult? Or, would you prefer to do it by the book and get him for good later rather than sooner?"  
  
"What kind of technicality are we talking about?"  
  
Casey did not answer right away. She took a deep breath and retired into deep contemplation for a moment.  
  
"John, there is a reason I approached you in particular. You're always arguing how the government is infringing on our privacy, how Big Brother is looking at everything we do. I get the feeling from listening to you that you actually take the Constitution very seriously. More so than most John Laws. And you sound like you genuinely and passionately care about individual rights and freedoms. If anybody can tell me if what I am thinking of doing is ethical or not, it's you."  
  
That caught Munch like an uppercut from Mike Tyson. Few people listened to his rants. They had cost him many a partner and many a wife. But no one had ever told him they thought the better of him for them.  
  
"I'm touched that you think so much of me, Counselor. Especially after this morning. But before you go any further, I have to advise you that there is a high probability that you will be identified as the source of whatever you might disclose. I don't have to tell you what that would do to your job, not to mention your legal career."  
  
"That makes no difference. My letter of resignation is already on Arthur Branch's desk, dated today. I can always get another job. But I have to be able to live with myself."  
  
The room fell silent for what seemed an eternity. Munch was at a loss for words. Finally, he leaned forward.  
  
"It looks like you are prepared to go above and beyond the call of duty on this one. Least I can do is make sure your sacrifice is worth it. What do you have?"  
  
"OK." Casey leaned forward. All apprehension, all doubt had melted away from her face. Cold, detached, clinical determination took over.  
  
"Three years ago, when Muldoon was sixteen, the Hamptons Police charged him with sexually assaulting one of his parents' maids and one of his older cousins' friends from college. They alleged he sweet-talked both of them into getting beer for him. He passed them each a $100. They brought the beer back to the Muldoon mansion, and met him in the garage.  
  
"Then, in both cases, the vics initially stated Muldoon approached them within twenty-four hours with a videotape that had them passing the beer to him. They said Muldoon threatened to go to the police with the tapes—he said he had other copies stashed away safely if either woman got any ideas—unless they did what he wanted them to.  
  
"The victims said Muldoon then ordered them to the Muldoon beachfront. At the North-easternmost tip of the beachfront, there are some boulders, and the ground rises up. Hidden behind the boulders, and recessed in the ground, is a cave. Suffolk County owns the lot adjacent to the Muldoon estate. There was no one on that lot late at night.  
  
"The victims claimed that Muldoon ordered them each into the cave. They described the place as deep, and well lit up. They alleged that Muldoon then punched them in the solar plexus, hard enough to take the wind out of them and incapacitate them for a few minutes. Then he ripped their clothes off and raped and sodomized them, slapping them hard on the face. When he was done, the victims said, Muldoon grabbed them by the hair, and turned them around until they saw that he had installed a camera in the rocks, capturing everything on tape. They said he told them that, if they opened their mouths, he would make sure all the friends and family saw 'their fifteen minutes.'  
  
"The maid was an illegal, so she kept quiet. But his cousin's friend went to the police. They took her statement, and started asking and looking around at the mansion. The maid looked like an illegal. Since the John Laws couldn't find anything—besides some really expensive video and mixing gear—, they figured they'd bring her down to the station house, and at least have a collar for INS to make their Chief look good. They get to the station, and the maid blurts out what happened to her, figuring she has nothing left to lose. She didn't know that the cousin's friend had also complained. The details of the crimes matched perfectly. That was enough for a warrant.  
  
"But, when the Hamptons Police returned to the Muldoons' mansion, they could not find any of the tapes. They arrested Chris Muldoon, but his father bailed him out less than an hour after they booked him."  
  
"Muldoon is learning, but old habits die hard." interjected Munch. "None of our victims were slapped, and he's using chemistry instead of a punch to the solar plexus, but all five were also sodomized."  
  
"There's more. We were all set to go to trial. I was convinced we could get Muldoon off. The cops did not turn up any of the footage Muldoon allegedly took, so I actually believed the bastard was innocent."  
  
"What made you change your mind?"  
  
"The days they were supposed to testify, the victims didn't show. The judge sent a bailiff after them, but they decided to recant their testimony. Even the threat of being charged with making a false statement couldn't persuade them."  
  
"I can see that happening. Muldoon came from money. Some gold-digger cries rape, and, if she doesn't squeeze a few hundred out of the family, at least she gets to be famous. Then, she changes her mind at the last minute, figures the defense will rip a hole in their stories, and they'll get a reputation for crying "Rape!" and no man will go near her again. Judge has to admonish them for wasting the court's time."  
  
"I thought the same thing too at the time. Then, a few weeks later, the police haul in Mr. and Mrs. Muldoon for questioning. It seems the maid had disappeared without a trace, and the cousin's friend died of an overdose. The thing was, the ME found that the cousin's friend was not a habitual user, and that there were bruises on her arms and wrists consistent with someone holding her down.  
  
"Other than motive, there was nothing to hold the Muldoons, so they were released. But there was something that stuck in the back of my mind, something I never wanted to believe for the longest time..."  
  
"What was that?" asked Munch.  
  
"Well, just after the case against Chris Muldoon was dismissed, he threw himself a party on the beach. He behaved like a perfect gentleman. The trial was fresh, and he really wanted to clear his image. He invited all of us who participated in his defense team. He even kissed me on the hand, you know, like European gentlemen used to do years ago..."  
  
Casey's hand wiped her right hand up and down the side of her leather jacket, like she was trying to get rid of something odious on the back of her hand. Imaginary to be sure, but odious nevertheless.  
  
"After a while, Maureen Muldoon came down to see how the party was going, and to thank each one of us. She said she hoped we were enjoying ourselves. Then, she headed back to the mansion. I was talking to a friend, but as soon as she turned back towards the path, I followed her. I was hoping to get a letter of recommendation from her. I was some distance behind her, and she didn't see me.  
  
"Then all of a sudden, one of the groundskeepers, Eamon Farley, meets her on the way down. He had a cooler-full of soda for Muldoon's party. Maureen Muldoon grabs him by the arm, and asks him what the hell he was doing there. 'You've more important things to do, Farley!' She told him 'Now hurry up and drop that down there, and do what I asked you to.' "  
  
"Eamon Farley? Did you get a good look at him?"  
  
"Yes. About six and a half, two hundred pounds, muscular. Balding, whatever hair he had left was curly and on the sides of his heads. Light brown or dirty blond. Sunken cheeks, habitually has his mouth open. Blue eyes. Why?"  
  
"Jackpot. That's our Eamon Farley. This time, witnesses put him visiting the vics one day after we identified Chris Muldoon as a possible suspect. After that, all five refused to talk to us. But one of the kids who ID'd Farley talking to a vic at Uptown U. recognized him from the Muldoons' summer place at the Hamptons. Said Farley was one of the help at a party Chris Muldoon threw for his classmates last summer. We paid a visit to the Muldoons' place in the Hamptons. The Muldoons weren't in residence. They live on Park Avenue this time of the year. But friend Eamon was there, blowing the leaves. We brought him in for questioning, but he wasn't talking. Next thing we know, Seamus Parnell Muldoon Junior is bursting into the box, telling us to charge his client, or let him go."  
  
"And you did..."  
  
"We had too. We only had him visiting the vics. They weren't talking, and none of our witnesses heard what Farley and the vics talked about. Day and half later, he flew to Dublin on an Irish diplomatic passport."  
  
"Did you get the Garda Siochona," asked Casey, using the title of the Republic's national police force, "to verify that Farley landed there?"  
  
"We asked them. They stonewalled us. Said that Farley is an Irish citizen, and that we did not have enough evidence that he committed any crime..."  
  
"He is an Irish citizen, but I can guarantee he is not in Ireland."  
  
"What? How do you know that?"  
  
"Maureen Muldoon does a lot of very high-profile pro-bono work with Irish immigrants, helping them get green cards. She told anyone who would listen that poor Eamon Farley fled to America because he had had 'simply protested British rule in Ireland.' "  
  
"You didn't buy that?"  
  
"I did at the time. Then, I overheard Maureen talking to Farley. After I joined the DA's office, it still bothered me. I didn't want to believe it, but the doubt kept nagging me. I checked up on Farley. Ten years ago, there was an Irish drug lord who was killed, allegedly because he was doing business with Loyalist paramilitaries. Farley was a known associate of that drug lord. He arrived in New York less than a week after the killing. He made a claim for asylum. INS had their doubts, but, when Seamus Parnell Junior showed up with a mountain of paperwork, they had to grant Farley a temporary visa. He was granted asylum six months later, and a green card two years later."  
  
"So," asked Munch, "You're telling me that Farley would never go back to Ireland because this drug lord's crew would give him a warmer reception than he would care for?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
Munch sat back and drew a breath. Then, he got up and walked to the rather untidy bookcase that lay several feet beyond his TV. From this, he finally extracted a road atlas of New York. He sat back down on the couch, opened the index of the atlas, found the number of the map he wanted, and then flipped to it. After he found the right page, he examined it for a few seconds, and then turned the map so that Casey could see it.  
  
"Okay. This here is the Muldoon summer place." Munch indicated with his index finger. "Do you know where the cave is from here?"  
  
Casey showed him.  
  
"Okay. Good. That's a start."  
  
"I can see that you look at that map a lot!" Casey's mouth broke into a half-smirk, and a playful look brightened her eyes.  
  
"One day, I'm gonna find me a rich widow with a place out there." retorted Munch. "But not tonight. I have to head back to the House for a little bit. Can I give you a lift home?"  
  
"No, I'll be alright. But, I thought you were done for the day."  
  
"I left my favorite razor in my locker." 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
One early evening several weeks later, Casey stopped at the SVU squad room before calling it a day. Munch was at his desk, poring half-interestedly over a file. The others had already punched out.  
  
"Detective."  
  
"Counselor."  
  
"I just thought I might share the good news with you. Life for Seamus Parnell Muldoon Senior and Junior, Maureen Muldoon and Eamon Farley for arms trafficking and membership in a terrorist organization. Right now, they think it's manna from Heaven. I don't blame them. Life in the Federal Pen is bad enough, but compared life in the Maze, with all those angry Loyalists and Corrections officers who were either injured by or lost loved ones to the IRA, it's as if they were back in their mansion."  
  
"Yeah. I heard Her Majesty's Government is pressing for extradition. But, since the Muldoons were also dealing to Al-Qaeda cells out of that cave, I guess they're singing enough to convince the Feds to keep them here."  
  
"They're singing, alright. But I doubt the Feds will keep them here just for that. They already have the Al-Qaedas the Muldoons did business with. If there is anything more to be milked out of this, it's going to come from that end, not the Muldoons. In any case, Chris is not going to join his family and Farley."  
  
"That little punk! Dropped the dime on his own family. Soon, he's going to wish he was in the Maze with them. He was a "big stud" raping those ten women. But, I doubt he'll ever be the stud of any other relationship, at least for the next twenty-five years."  
  
"At least that, yes." Casey agreed. "But, you know something? I just had the strangest conversation with Arthur Branch. You figured most prominently in it."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah, really! After he finishes pouring everyone drinks, he, all of sudden, says "That damn Munch! To think his conspiracy obsessions not only solved ten rapes—including five we knew nothing about—but also exposed a major arms trafficking ring and a terrorist operation on top of that!' "  
  
"So I say 'Hey! Give him a break, Arthur! I'll admit he is a bit loopy. But he helped us get a few more heads above the ole' fireplace.' "  
  
"'A bit loopy?' And thanks so much for making me feel like I took part in the mindless slaughter of some poor animal in the name of 'sport!' "  
  
"Yes, but in a nice way. And, you're right. To compare the Muldoons to animals is insulting to the animals. But that's not what stuck out!"  
  
"Another of those 'nagging doubts' of yours?"  
  
"Yes." Casey's eyes narrowed "A couple of them actually. First, I always found it strange that you suddenly felt the need to drag Fin over to the Muldoon mansion to have another look-see, after you told me you were going back to the House, allegedly to get your favorite razor, that night. Fin told me he was ready to throttle you after the mansion was a bust, and then you proceeded to drag him along the beach to the boulders and the cave because you thought that was an ideal location from where the Navy could test-launch hi-tech anti-aircraft rockets..."  
  
"I didn't twist Fin's arm. He could have just waited for me in the car. I told him so. But think about the other bit, Casey. It makes perfect sense! That airliner eight years ago. Then, the Senator's son's plane with his wife and her friend. Then, that foreign carrier. They all passed that way headed points north-east. NTSB still hasn't come up with a decent explanation for any of them. And a team of renowned aerodynamic experts refused to sign off on a report that ruled out the possibility of a rocket..."  
  
"Your 'curiosity,' odd as it seems, found where Chris Muldoon and Eamon Farley were hiding, along with all those explosives and firearms, John. So, if Fin is willing to let that one slide, so I'm I. Besides, I'm happy that that you were quicker on the draw than Farley and Muldoon."  
  
"I'm happy about that too!"  
  
"I don't doubt it. But, then there's..."  
  
"Dammit! I was so close!"  
  
"Nice try! I have several nieces and nephews your age.  
  
"My age?"  
  
"Your mental age. As I was saying, then there's what Arthur says you told him when you got to his office the very morning after the bust. Strange. You hadn't slept for two days before. You spend all night processing the scene. You make the arrests, you close the case. Any normal John Law would head home and grab some much needed z's after that."  
  
"We're not 'any normal police.' We're Special Victims..."  
  
"But you don't go home!" Casey continued as if uninterrupted, crossing her arms in the manner of a schoolteacher about to dish out an unpleasant reprimand. "No, you go straight to Arthur Branch's office. You're waiting for him there when he shows up."  
  
"A matter of that importance, you can't just sleep on it. Besides, no one at the scene would listen to me after we cuffed Muldoon and Farley. Stabler, I understand. He's a former jarhead. But not even Cragen..."  
  
"You're waiting there, unshaven, stinking to high heavens..." Casey ignored him again. "Arthur is wondering 'What the hell is Munch doing here this damn early? He just solved the case of a lifetime after a lifetime of nighttimes. He should be in bed.' But Arthur is a gentleman, so he congratulates you, invites you in and offers you a drink to celebrate. Kind of early in the day if you ask me. But that's Arthur, the epitome of Southern chivalry.  
  
"But, you don't accept his kind offer and shut up, do you, John? No, you go off, jumping up and down like an organ-grinder's monkey that you have something urgent to tell Arthur, something that even Cragen is overlooking!  
  
"Arthur doesn't know you very well at that time, so he immediately ushers you in, asks you to have a seat, and closes the door. Then you pour out your conspiracy theory about the government testing anti-aircraft rockets out of the very site where the crime scene from three years ago happens to be located. You insist that Farley and Muldoon—who was all of eleven when the airliner ended up in the ocean—are just patsies like Lee Harvey Oswald. Useful patsies, because once we got them for Muldoon's rapes and Farley's murders and witness-threatening, we'd lose interest in the area. Then the government can resume testing. What's more, with the Muldoon mansion vacant, there are fewer witnesses."  
  
"Counselor, what, in any of that, does not make sense? Is there anything in what I told Branch that is not plausible?"  
  
"No, it's all plausible. It's also all crazy. Which is what Arthur thinks at this point. He tells you this, but you insist. You don't convince him, but he can see that you're not going to take no for an answer. He realizes that he is the one who needs a drink."  
  
"Yeah, he helped himself. Then he told me he would look into it. That was over a month ago, and I still haven't heard anything!"  
  
"We do have other cases, John. But there is something else I cannot figure out."  
  
"What?" Munch's face was the picture of innocence.  
  
"Like you said, it's been over a month. I still haven't heard anything from Arthur about my letter of resignation."  
  
"His desk is so messy, he probably hasn't found it yet. A team of archeologists would have trouble finding a live dinosaur on that desk."  
  
"When I left it on his desk, it was the only thing there. There was nothing else on his blotter. Of course, his secretary could have come in and left other papers for him. She usually does. But she would have left it in a neat, orderly pile—next to, not on top of, anything that was already there."  
  
"Well, maybe his regular secretary was out that day. You know how temps are. You have to show them everything..."  
  
"Maybe. I'll have to verify that."  
  
"I'm wounded..."  
  
"You'll live. But then, there's something you just said about Arthur helping himself to a drink...."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Arthur's liquor cabinet runs perpendicular to his desk."  
  
"I'm glad to see you remember your geometry!"  
  
"That means his back was turned to you when he was pouring. He couldn't see if anything happened to disappear from his desk..."  
  
"That's right. He couldn't!"  
  
There was a long silence. Munch and Casey looked into each other's eyes. Casey slowly walked over to Munch's desk, and sat down in the chair besides it. She uncrossed her arms, and put a hand on Munch's. Her eyes were beginning to moisten.  
  
"John..." she began at last "You know I'll never be able to repay you for that. I was really ready to sacrifice my job to make this case right. I would do it again in a heartbeat."  
  
"Which is exactly why we can't afford to lose you, Casey."  
  
Casey let out a half-sob, half-sigh. Munch leaned forward and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.  
  
"I've been a police since before you were born. There's very little I haven't seen. Everyone rats everyone out when it's their skin on the line. And not just perps. Police too. The bosses kick you when the Mayor kicks them. Even your own partners drag you down with them. It's so bad that sometimes you get the feeling that the only difference between you and the perp is that you're the one with the badge."  
  
"Then why do you go on?" asked Casey, brushing a tear from her cheek.  
  
"Because it's the only thing you got. Sad isn't it. But that's the truth. You resign yourself to it.  
  
"Then you walked into the picture. The way you stood up to Fowler a little while back? You had me thinking Fin put a bad batch of LSD in my coffee. I never imagined something like that was possible.  
  
"And then, the other night. Casey, I've seen so many police and so many State's Attorney's sacrifice cases—and good cops—to protect their careers. You did something I never thought I'd ever see another human being do in this lifetime. For you, making this right was more important than your career. It was as if I found a perfect diamond. You know what, I did!"  
  
"John!" The word came out as a mixture of a laugh and a sob. Casey's mouth cracked into something resembling a smile as she wiped away another tear.  
  
"I mean it Casey! With people like you, this life is worth living after all."  
  
Casey let out an embarrassed laugh, as she took Munch's proffered handkerchief and wiped her eyes. She handed it back to him, and there was another long silence.  
  
"You're a wonderful friend, John!" Casey leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek, the kind of kiss a sister gives to her older brother. "There is something seriously wrong with your ex-wives for them not to have seen that!"  
  
With that, Casey gave Munch a hug that was stronger and tighter than he imagined it would be. Then she got up and left the squad room, leaving Munch with a pleasant warmth he hadn't felt for decades. 


End file.
